I crept away to the stable, and, throwing my arms about Gypsy's neck,
sobbed aloud. She too had come from the sunny South, and was now a
stranger in a strange land.

The little mare seemed to realize our situation, and gave me all the
sympathy I could ask, repeatedly rubbing her soft nose over my face and
lapping up my salt tears with evident relish.

When night came, I felt still more lonesome. My grandfather sat in
his arm-chair the greater part of the evening, reading the Rivermouth
Bamacle, the local newspaper. There was no gas in those days, and the
Captain read by the aid of a small block-tin lamp, which he held in one
hand. I observed that he had a habit of dropping off into a doze every
three or four minutes, and I forgot my homesickness at intervals in
watching him. Two or three times, to my vast amusement, he scorched the
edges of the newspaper with the wick of the lamp; and at about half
past eight o'clock I had the satisfactions--I am sorry to confess it was a
satisfaction--of seeing the Rivermouth Barnacle in flames.

My grandfather leisurely extinguished the fire with his hands, and Miss
Abigail, who sat near a low table, knitting by the light of an astral
lamp, did not even look up. She was quite used to this catastrophe.

There was little or no conversation during the evening. In fact, I do
not remember that anyone spoke at all, excepting once, when the Captain
remarked, in a meditative manner, that my parents "must have reached New
York by this time"; at which supposition I nearly strangled myself in
attempting to intercept a sob.

The monotonous "click click" of Miss Abigail's needles made me nervous